NO
by RanMouri82
Summary: Seven months pregnant, Frisk had every intention of keeping a low profile. But some can't take "no" for an answer. Based on "Unexpected" by kazefiend (Tumblr / Archive of Our Own); Flowerfell AU


**Title:** NO

 **Author:** RanMouri82

 **Rating:** PG-13

 **Disclaimer:** Toby Fox owns Undertale. I own my fangirling.

 **Notes:** Seven months pregnant, Frisk had every intention of keeping a low profile. But some can't take "no" for an answer. Based on "Unexpected" by kazefiend (Tumblr / Archive of Our Own); Flowerfell AU

 _NO_

 _"Nah to the ah to the no, no, no."_

— Meghan Trainor

Seven months pregnant, Frisk had every intention of keeping a low profile whenever they ran errands. Even though Sans agreed and knew exactly why they both needed to keep quiet until their twins were born, he could not help but razz his wife about how well they fit the stereotype of a celeb avoiding the paparazzi: large sunglasses, messy bun or a hat to cover their hair, plain maternity wear, and a blank expression. But, pregnant or not, they were still human. They needed to get out of the house, swollen feet and aching back be damned.

That was why Frisk chose a warm, sunny day to join Sans in shopping at Grand Market, the local grocery store. Their cabin fever was at its peak, and the soft breeze, puffy clouds, and swaying treetops were delicious. For the sake of discretion, the couple split the shopping list, giving Frisk the lightest items and snacks to buy. They would just pay separately and meet at the car. Hair hidden under a baseball cap and dark sunglasses dwarfing their face, Frisk basked in the supermarket's air conditioning and sought out their favorite snacks, anticipating eating each one with a cold, creamy glass of milk.

They had just started browsing among the corn chips when they felt eyes following them. Human eyes.

Frisk halted and glanced out of the side of their giant sunglasses. A tall man wearing a frayed orange hoodie, shorts, and sandals kept glancing in their direction. Uh oh. Did he recognize them? They made a point of going out in a baggy shirt and leggings to be as understated as possible.

They felt the man approach even as they turned to explore the Oreos on the aisle's opposite side. Pushing their cart softly along the linoleum tiles, they kept an ear out for trouble. Could he be a photographer? A random citizen looking to make a viral video? Maybe they were just being paranoid, or—

"Hey there."

Though Frisk heard the man right next to them, they pretended not to notice and tapped their fingertips on each bright package of crazy Oreo varieties, internally begging him to leave. Double Stuf Root Beer, Green Tea, Peach flavor?!

"Uh, hey? Hey."

This guy was not leaving. Biting their lip, Frisk turned to face him. Short, straggly blonde hair, tanned skin, chapped lips, brown eyes, and chin stubble faced them back.

That, and a smoldering bedroom stare.

Frisk blinked. No.

"Hey there, angel," the man said, edging closer and blocking Frisk's view of the S'mores Oreos. "How ya doing?"

Seriously. No.

"Um, excuse me," Frisk mumbled, maneuvering their cart around the man.

But at that moment, he stopped it with his hand and winked. "Name's Jake. Haven't seen you around before. Would definitely remember you if I did."

Still not believing this was happening, Frisk rubbed their very pregnant belly. The twins were kicking inside as if this somehow amused the two of them.

"Got a nice glow, mama. Or maybe it's your halo," Jake said, looking Frisk up and down and licking his lips.

"Got a husband," Frisk replied, shaking their head. This guy was insane. And gross. "Excuse me—"

"Hold on, hold on, don't mean no harm." Jake let them pass, but slowly ambled behind Frisk, who wished they could teleport out like Sans. Before Frisk had started to show, when the couple still openly shopped together, many folks gave Sans a wide berth in public places. Frisk knew well that, if Sans were here, this wannabe Romeo would piss his pants. But as it was, the man would not go away. Or take "no" for an answer.

And he was blocking their cookies.

Finally, Frisk stopped their cart and turned around. Behind their dark lenses, their red eyes flashed fire.

Sans had just escaped the dairy aisle, his cart full of whole milk gallons, knowing he looked like a total idiot to the mix of humans and monsters he passed. Well, more idiotic to the monsters who knew skeletons did not depend on milk for survival.

Rounding an end cap display of Froot Loops and tossing a few cereal boxes into his squeaky cart, he spotted a skeevy blonde guy in a stained hoodie cringing and backing away from Frisk. Just then, Frisk noticed Sans and pointed him out to the strange man, their voice low but hands wildly gesturing—ticking an invisible list on their fingers.

Sans' first instinct was to shortcut in and pummel the asshole, but he felt like he would be stopping Frisk from reaming the guy. Hormonal rages aside, if Frisk was pissed, whoever was on the receiving end deserved it. They seemed to have things under control.

An odd degree of control.

He smirked though he nevertheless hurried to roll his cart closer. What was his sweetheart doing?

Just then, the blonde man backed up too far and bumped into a cardboard display of M&Ms. A weak, dented corner tore off, spilling piles of plastic, economy-sized bags of candy to the floor. Several bags burst when they hit the ground and sprayed their contents everywhere until red, yellow, green, and brown M&Ms rolled around Frisk's feet. The guy hurried away, dodging the rolling bits of candy a moment before a store clerk with a broom passed by and groaned at the mess. Probably just cleaned that aisle.

Shaking his head, Sans popped into the nearby housewares aisle, grabbed a broom and dustpan, and reappeared next to Frisk before his wife could trip over the cracked chocolate. The clerk was startled by the sudden, looming skeleton, but grateful for the help. Once the path was clear, Frisk took Sans' hand, their original plan forgotten. It was no real trouble to consolidate their shopping carts and have Frisk wait within sight by the exit doors, neither of them wanting a repeat performance.

When they strolled out of the supermarket and into the bright sun, Sans seized the chance to ask the burning question that tugged at his skull. "Sweetheart, what the hell happened back there? For a sec, it looked like the freak was hitting on ya."

"He was," Frisk said, again rubbing their swollen belly while a smile played on their lips. "Put him in his place."

"How?" Sans had just reached their new van, opened its trunk, and began piling the grocery bags inside.

"Told him what made you the best," Frisk said, shrugging their shoulders as Sans finished loading the van and shut the trunk door, narrowing his eye sockets at them in confusion.

"In detail." Then, they looked away and blushed. "Sexually."

'"Well, shit!" Sans shook with glee, clamping his hand over his teeth. This was too much. Flattered or not, this was the verbal equivalent of kneeing the guy in his balls. Sans' roars of laughter mingled with Frisk's and echoed off the concrete of the Grand Market's parking lot. When he finally stopped coughing long enough to speak, he held his fist in the air and said, "You win, babe."

Frisk gratefully accepted their husband's fistbump and held their head high as Sans helped them into the car. "But next time, I'm wearing a horse mask."

"Nah, sugar, a freak's a freak. Next time, we'll stick together. Let people think I'm cheating on you with a really hot, pregnant horse." Though Frisk slapped his arm at that idea, they both laughed as Sans started the car and drove them home.


End file.
